Love the Way You Lie
by belladisastro
Summary: Nursery teacher Bella and Jingle-writer Edward have been best friends since high school. They are soul mates who were never destined to be together. This sad reality may change when Bella's abusive boyfriend Jake pushes things too far. AU AH ExB


_**Author's Note: **_Hello there, readers! So this is my first time posting a story that I was at all proud of. Every other story I've tried and taken it down, like, _immediately_! This story is based off of Eminem's new song _Love the Way You Lie_, so if you've heard the song, you realize it is about abuse. It's one of my favorite songs right now (I'm a huge Eminem fan, and usually hate his singles, but this is an exception) and I find it really powerful. If you haven't heard it, go listen to it ASAP! I really hope people enjoy this story: it is pretty angst-filled, but since I can't handle too much angst myself, I try to write some humorous banter between characters to make it a little lighter than most abuse fics. Please review if you like it, that would mean so much to me.

I know this note is like longer than the story, but if you're still reading, thank you!

_**Disclaimer: **_Characters aren't mine…duh!

ENJOY!

**Chapter One**

**BPOV**

"Pink?" He questioned suspiciously.

"It's salmon… I think." I held it up to his chest, flattening it against him. I seized any opportunity to touch him.

"Salmon is a _shade_ of pink. And by the way, what are _you _doing giving me fashion advice anyway?" He tugged flirtatiously on the belt loops of my worn out jeans. My heart fluttered uncooperatively.

"And what is that supposed to mean… Eddie?" I drawled the last work in a mock-southern accent. He cringed. Jessica was Edward's southern bell of an ex-girlfriend who refused to call by his full name, calling it a "Grandpa name."

"Well it's usually Alice that drags me along on these little 'excursions'" He grabbed the button-up from me, hanging it back up while narrowing his eyes at the god-forsaken color.

"Eh, she insisted I take you. She had a whole pitch worked out. She showed me pictures of you in your jerseys and jeans and then shots of J-Crew models. That girl should sell cars."

"Or volcano insurance."

I giggled quietly at the reference. Once, Edward and I had watched the first three seasons of Family guy in three consecutive days. This weekend had happened before _him_.

We meandered down the aisle of J-Crew commenting on the ridiculously soft fibers. I rubbed a sleeve of a royal blue sweater on the apple of my cheek, sighing contently.

"I wish I could afford this stuff. I would sleep in this, I swear."

"You swear, huh?" he paused for a second. "I could buy it for you, if you want." His voice got all quiet and raspy when he offered me things like this. He always seemed embarrassed by his not-so-humble background.

"That's really nice, Ed." He smirked at the nickname, which had originated from his up-tight girlfriend, Angela. "But it's not the best idea."

He peaked down at me through his eyelashes. You could see the restraint it was taking for him to not display the pure rage in those glowing green eyes of his. He ran his tongue over his teeth, a delicious, nervous habit of his.

"Where's Nelson today?" Nelson was my pug with a severe case of narcolepsy.

"With Jake." I muttered quietly. Jake's name was taboo for Edward and me.

"Ah, _Jake_." He spat his name, rubbing his hands together, frustrated, and picked up a simple blue cardigan. "I'm getting this for you." His voice was barely above a whisper.

I placed my hand on my hip and grabbed it from him, checking the price tag on the once again, and ridiculously soft sweater.

"Sixty dollars! Edward, it's too much. You _know _what he'll say."

"You can wear it to work!" He offered desperately. "Put it on in your car before you get to school and then take it off when you get home. And _I'll _have it dry-cleaned for you and…" His voice trailed off.

I placed my small hand on his chest, admiring the heat that zinged into my fingertips. "I would really appreciate it. It's a beautiful sweater. But the kids might get paint on it and I'd forget, you know me, the scatter brain, and he'd see."

He swallowed and nodded, stuffing his large hands into his pockets.

"Hey," I tugged on his sleeve, forcing him to look up at me (more accurately, down at me, he towered over me at 6'2). "I like you."

He smiled slightly. "I like you more." He took the sweater out of my hand, replacing it on the rack. He then slung his arm around my shoulder, pulling my head to his chest and placing an innocent kiss on my hairline.

Damn my stupid heart for having its dance party inside of me. Even after all these years, after all those embraces, after those chaste kisses under mistletoe and at New Years when both of us were date-less—a simple kiss on the head made me lightheaded.

We'd always done this—Edward and I—told each other how much we liked each other. It started when he was dating Jessica, and I was alone. We continued it when I started to date Tyler and he broke up with Jess. Angie followed close after my heartbreak with Tyler, my first (in many respects) and Mike followed just after Angie had moved to Minneapolis. Are you starting to follow the pattern?

He'd been the first to say it. A declaration of true… friendship.

"Hey, kid" he'd began. Always with the "kid,"—it didn't seem to matter to Edward that I was months older than he was. "You know how awesome you are right?"

We were alone in a movie theater—not a rare occurrence in the tiny town of Forks where movies that didn't involve fishing disasters were frowned upon—and we had chosen the perfect middle seats. We had counted rows and chair numbers to make the seats we had chosen precise. "Power seats" as Edward had dubbed them.

"Aw, Edwin, don't flatter me too much or I might get a big head. And yes, I am supremely awesome." I stole a handful of popcorn from the huge tub of butter, with some popcorn sprinkled in, that we were sharing.

"Fair Bella, don't tempt me!" He had shaken a long, elegant finger at me. "You know how irresistible I find you when you call me that."

I laughed aloud.

"_Skinny Edwin the pinhead_" I sang teasingly.

"You always had a way with words." He laughed for a second, before tugging a piece of my hair. I slapped his hand; he then poked my side.

"Stop it, or I'll make you dump that buttery concoction you insisted on all over yourself."

He just smirked at me. "You're not paying attention to the movie."

"You started it." I paused. "Like always."

"How did I start it, again?" He pondered dumbly.

"Telling me something we already both knew." He smiled slightly, prompting me to continue. "That I'm awesome."

"Right, right. It's all coming back to me now." He tapped his temple with two fingers.

I flicked his shoulder. "You seriously have the memory of the goldfish."

"Well, now that I remember, I was going to tell you how much I like you. Which I do, by the way, I like you like pretty intensely."

A million emotions flooded my body. His face had been close to mine; his scent was all butter and old spice. I must have been all butter and Herbal Essences. I was with Tyler—he knew that. It was just because he was sad about Jess—that little southern bitch—or maybe he was just trying to mess with my…

But then I looked at him. He was just grinning at me normally, one side of his mouth pulled up slightly higher than the other. That damn crooked smile—it was just like us. We were crooked. If that made any sense…

"I like you very much, too… Edwin."

"Stop it! That name is like Marvin Gaye… just get's you in the mood!"

His arm was still slung around me as we left the store—empty-handed.

Edward was babbling to me about Notre Dame relying to much on their passing game and blah blah blah—hadn't he realized by now that I could care less about sports? —when we reached Alice and Edward's apartment complex.

But talking about it made him happy—and after denying him the privilege of lavishing me with gifts today, I felt bad. So I nodded and mmm-hmmed at appropriate moments.

I even made a comment about Jimmy Clausen's body, which he scoffed at slightly before rattling off some statistics that I—again—could care less about. I rang Alice's number once we had trudged up the steps to the entrance.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" She muttered, her voice still laced with sleep. I checked my watch— 3:00 P.M.

"Girl scouts!" Edward said in an embarrassingly high voice. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

She let us up.

"Remind me again why you don't have your key."

"I left it at, uh, Misty's?" he squinted his eyes, trying to remember the random hook-up's name.

"Misty?"

"Or Mindy."

"Goldfish." I reminded him, tapping his temple. He simply shrugged as we climbed the five flights of stairs to Edward and Alice's apartment. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Alice and Edward thought it would be appropriate to see what it was like to live "among the people" and decline the over-the-top, doorman-included apartment in Midtown.

I had two very delusional best friends.

When we had finally reached our destination, Edward rapped on their door (his customary "shave and a haircut, two bits!" knock) and we waited.

And waited.

"Alice!" I called. "Edward bought you a sweater!"

Footsteps.

She opened the door, all 5 feet of her vibrating with excitement. "Is it lavender? I really need a lavender cardigan, it would go perfect with my…"

She glanced down at our bag-less hands.

"Evil. Both of you. You're evil."

"It was Bella who lied." Edward pointed out while slipping past her tiny body into the humble apartment.

Well it wasn't really humble—but by the Cullen's standards.

"But you should have had the foresight to have gotten me a sweater. And a lavender one at that." She huffed, reluctantly letting me in as well.

"Didn't you, like, JUST buy a purple sweater?" He began to rummage around the kitchen cabinets for something. "And where do we keep that fancy juicer thingy that Mom bought us?"

"It was eggplant, not lavender. And it's in the second cabinet on the left."

"Well, does it make that much of a difference? And how many purple sweaters can a girl need? Especially a _kindergarten _teacher. I mean don't _all_ of your sweaters end up purple eventually?" He questioned, rummaging around the thirdcabinet from the left.

Alice looked at me like; _Do you see what I have to live with? _I just giggled and sunk onto their couch.

"I'm not finding the juicer, Ally."

"I said _second _cabinet from the left, not third." She said obviously, before tagging on, "Shithead."

He turned and scowled at her before muttering something that sounded like, "Could have sworn you said third…"

If it were possible to be an intelligent buffoon—Edward was it. He was really quite smart, aced all of his AP exams in High school and graduated Valedictorian. He didn't speak at graduation; obviously, he couldn't be bothered with writing such a thing. He'd then graduated with honors in Philosophy from Notre Dame (the one major that can never be translated into a career until later in life when you wanted to be a professor for that subject. I'm certain, however that jowls and crazy eyebrows were a prerequisite for the job.) He now wrote jingles for various products and cursed people like the Shamwow guy. He'd never aspired to be a jingle-writer that was for sure. Come to think of it, I don't think he ever aspired to be anything. When he wasn't writing his jingles, he read a lot and tried to bake, which often resulted in a call to the fire department. He knew how to knit, but only Alice, Esme, and I knew about this. And all of us had taken a vow of secrecy. A vow that we were meant to take very seriously. He had knit me a scarf once before.

A scarf that I had never been able to wear.

But that was beside the point. My point? Edward is a kooky, smart guy. He just only bothered to use that intelligence when it was something he was interested in. These things were few and far between. He was fascinated by religion, and could get a practicing Mormon to admit that Joseph Smith had deserved to be institutionalized.

He was interested in football—college football, specifically—and could rattle off any number of statistics about every single player on Notre Dame's starting line up. And for the rivals—he memorized the not-so-nice statistics.

He was interested in movies. He had seen every movie Stephen Spielberg has ever made and wrote a paper on George Lucas and his infinite douchebaggery. This paper wasn't for school, mind you.

And he was interested in me. Any statistic there was to know about little ol' me, he knew it. He knew me inside out and backwards. It scared me sometimes… If I died, Edward would find a way to clone me. And he would get everything right. My face, my body, my personality… my everything.

And he was interested in his family, of course. He could make carbon copies of them too, if need be. But those clones of Esme, Carlisle, Emmett (and Rose, by extension), and Alice might not be so perfect.

"Aha!" Edward had exclaimed. He had found the juicer.

Just as Edward made his discovery, plugged it in and began to rummage through the refrigerator, a sleepy-eyed Jasper appeared wearing nothing but a baggy pair of UNC gym shorts. He glanced at the company in the room before unabashedly reaching down said shorts to give the family jewels a good morning scratch.

"Jazz! Hey buddy." Edward yelled pointing a carrot at Jasper and Alice. "I'm making something for the two of you."

"Hey buddy?" He mouthed and looked to Alice and I, his eyes questioning. Both of us shrugged. Who were we to explain his insanity? Alice laid her head on my lap, scrunching her face up as Edward continued to make a ruckus in the kitchen.

"Rough night?" I asked, making sure to keep my voice low and soft.

"Mmmm." She responded.

"Did you at least get lucky?" I asked a little louder, so Edward would hear. A smile played on Alice's lips while Edward dramatically placed his hands over his hears while singing loudly, "La la laaa! Don't wanna hear it don't wanna hear it!"

For a jingle-writer, his singing voice left something to be desired.

Alice, Jasper, and I chuckled simultaneously. Edward would be forever uncomfortable with his little sister's sex life.

He looked over to us to make sure we weren't saying anything blasphemous before returning to brewing his concoction, which I assumed was meant to cure Alice and Jasper's respective hangovers.

"Cindy!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"Huh?" Jasper and I wondered out loud.

"Her name was Cindy. The girl. My keys. Her apartment."

It registered with me. "Ah, Misty?"

"Yeah, Misty. Her name was really Cindy." He continued to search the fridge for ingredients.

"You told me Mindy." Alice countered from her spot on my lap.

Edward's movements halted. "Did I?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Huh. Mindy, then. Misty's name was Mindy."

"How are you sure that her name wasn't Misty?" Jasper said comically.

"'Cause what kind of parents would name their child after a weather-condition?" Edward said, still rummaging.

"My mom wanted to name me Rain, but my dad luckily convinced her otherwise."

"Thank the lord," I almost chuckled, because as un-religious Edward was, he always seemed to be thanking the lord. "Because if you were named Rain I don't think we could be friends."

"Asian people name their children Sun sometimes. Like that chick in Lost." Jasper contributed.

"This conversation is silly!" Alice threw her hands up in the hair, before cringing. The movement proved to be too much for her in this delicate state.

"Her name was definitely Mindy." Edward mused. "I kept calling her Mindyrella."

"Then wouldn't it make more sense for her name to be Cindy?" Jasper said.

"For most people, yes, it would make more sense." I said, grinning.

Just then, the juicer came to life, causing both Jasper and Alice to cover their ears and scrunch up their faces.

A second later, Edward appeared in the living room, making a big deal out of the presentation of the disgusting-looking hangover healer.

He handed one to Alice, then to Jasper. Ladies first, of course. His etiquette had always been perfect—thank you, Esme.

"What is _in _this?" Jasper asked, pinching his nose at the stench.

"Don't ask. Just drink it." Edward said mysteriously.

"I feel like I'm in Rush Week again." Jasper commented before taking a few large gulps. Alice knew not to ask what was in it. As did I.

He rubbed his hands together and then pointed to me. I looked at him curiously before he tipped his head toward the piano. I smiled—how could I have forgotten?

Edward was convinced that he could turn me into a regular Mozart if he we practiced for at least ten minutes every time I visited his place. So far, this had not been the case, but still we played _Chopsticks _or _Heart and Soul _for ten minutes and then he would blow me out of the water with something beautiful and classical, or something beautiful and current. I would lean my head on his thick shoulder and listen and watch those talented fingers.

Those talented fingers that _never _made an appearance in all of my day dreams… never. I carefully removed myself from Alice and grabbed his elbow as we trotted over to the piano. Again, any excuse for contact and I took it.

I was miserable at the piano. Really awful. And Edward knew it; I knew he did. At first, it had plagued him. Was he not an adequate teacher? It must be him with his stupid methods—but I assured him, I was just not meant to be a musician.

As usual, I fumbled over the keys and barely managed to hold up my much simpler side of the _Heart and Soul _duet. He sighed and glanced at me.

"We should try guitar instead."

"So I can fail at that too?"

"Well piano and Bella obviously don't mix."

"Would you just shush up and play me something pretty?"

So he did. The familiar chords of the Fray's "How to Save a Life" filled the room. I sighed and glared at him. He knew what this song did to me.

But I sucked in my frustrated sigh and let him play. And he sang. When he finished the song, and glanced at me to make sure I wouldn't castrate him, he saw my sad face and muttered, "Fuck."

He then began to play "Breathe Me." Just as I was about to hit him with some real force and meaning, he began to sing. His voice was truly dreadful. And it always made me laugh.

So I sank into him and let myself laugh.

It was these few moments shared with Edward when I remembered that I had a good life. Good friends to fall back on. That's all that mattered, wasn't it?

He finished his song, an odd mixture of beautiful piano and terrible singing, and leaned against the keys, causing Jasper to groan at the noise and scamper to the bathroom.

Alice walked over to us and leaned on Edward, her elbows on his shoulders.

"So Jazz is a purger?" I asked. Alice chuckled quietly and nodded.

"Can you stay for dinner?" Alice asked hopefully.

I shook my head. "Cooking for—"

"For Jake." Edward finished sourly. He got up from the bench abruptly, startling both Alice and myself. Alice sat down next to me, wrapping her tiny hands around my arm and placing her chin around my shoulder.

"I get it." She whispered. She didn't get it. But her saying that she did made me feel better—however briefly.

"We should have dinner, all of us, sometime." Alice said, louder. Edward scoffed from the kitchen.

I leaned my head on top of hers. "I'll ask Jake."

There was no noise from the kitchen, but you could practically _hear _Edward rolling his eyes.

"Speaking of the devil," Edward said (he was never good at masking his distaste for people) "isn't his shift over soon?"

I checked my watch. And yes. The shift change should be happening in about ten minutes, meaning I needed to get home.

Jake worked as a cab driver. Glamorous work, I know.

I hopped up, kissing Alice on the cheek, calling into the bathroom and telling Jasper to feel better. He grunted in return.

I sped over to Edward, giving him a kiss on his taut jaw (the most easily accessible place on his face for me—or that's what I told myself) and hugged his side.

"I like you." I whispered.

He didn't respond at first, but after a moment, leaned down and whispered back, "I like you more."

I practically ran to my apartment. I unlocked the two hundred dead bolts and entered into an apartment that smelled like tomato sauce.

"You're cooking!" I called skeptically, hoping it was a good-mood cooking and not a cathartic cooking that was taking place.

"Spaghetti and meatballs, you're favorite!" I smiled despite myself. Penne Vodka was my favorite. But it was the thought that counts. I glanced at Nelson on his bed—passed out, of course, before replying.

"Babe, that is so awesome." I ran over to him and hugged him. Jake hugged back enthusiastically, stuffing his nose into my hair.

His arms stiffened.

He extracted himself from my grasp. "I didn't know you started using Old Spice."

I froze. Damn him and his keen since of smell.

"I thought you said you were spending time with Emily today." His voice was ice-cold.

"Change of plans." My voice was small, barely audible, pathetic.

He looked at me for a second before tipping the pan of spaghetti on to the floor. On purpose.

I ran to get a mop but he was there right in front of me. I cowered.

I had seen this scene a thousand times—no, been _a part _of this scene a thousand times. And each time I cowered. I did not grab a beer bottle from the counter and smack it over his head. I did not punch him in the lip. I didn't do any of the things the logical part of my mind told me to do.

Instead, I cowered.

Pathetic.

I turned away from him, walking towards the other side of the small kitchen. I hadn't yet turned my back to him when I head something whiz past my ear. The beer bottle shattered next to me.

Twenty minutes later, he stormed from the apartment, muttering something about getting drinks with Quil and Embry. Twenty minutes later, I had a bruise forming on my upper lip, a gash above my brow and a foot full of glass.

I hopped on my one good foot over to the broom closet, grabbed a mop and a dustpan, to clean everything up. Once things looked sufficiently tidy (the blood was gone, the spaghetti in the trash, the glass in there with it…) I hopped back over to the broom closet where I retrieved a spare pair of crutches.

This made it easier for me to clamber over to my cell phone.

I texted Edward: _Coming over. Last minute kind of plan. _

**EPOV**

Forty minutes after I received her text, she arrived. On crutches. I held back tears. I held back frustration. I held back the urge to buy a shotgun and shoot Jake in the back of the head.

I held all that back, for her. This beautiful, warm, loving, _battered _soul who stood in front of me.

She was on crutches, damn. She must have had to hobble all the way over here. And up five flights of stairs. When I said so, sadly, she merely shrugged and said she had practice.

That urge to shoot came flooding back. But again, I suppressed.

"I made Penne Vodka." I said quietly, carefully.

"That's perfect." She said just as softly. And I knew it wasn't perfect. She smelled like Spaghetti. Jake might have already ruined the Italian cuisine for tonight.

She saw my face. "It really is perfect. I haven't eaten."

She began to hobble over to the couch, but I removed the crutches from under her arms and gingerly picked her up bridal-style.

She eyed the Duane Reade bag sadly. It was filled with concealer, antiseptics, and aspirin. Plus there was a bag of M&M's. The new Pretzel kind that she loved.

"And what's in this bag of goodies?"

She knew what was in it, so I didn't respond. I set her down in a comfortable position and motioned for her to wait while I served up two plates of pasta—a load of parmesan on first, just how she liked it.

After we ate, well after she ate, my appetite was lost when I got her text, I pulled out the antiseptics and began to bandage her. To pull the shards of brown glass out of her foot. To make her whole. Even though, it seemed, every time I did this we lost another part of her.

I opened the bag of M&M's and put some into her hand. She ate "Mmming" for good measure. I put the concealer in her coat pocket and went back to my spot on the couch.

"Leave him."

I had requested this before many times. The first time, I had been so adamant and angry that the two of us had even gotten into a fight, breaking Bella even more. The second and third I was angry, but quiet when she denied my request. The fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth times I was reserved. This time, my voice was one of a ghost. It was raspy and sad and done. It was chalk full of emotions, just all the wrong ones.

She held her hand up in the air, and I placed mine against hers. We had done this when we were in high school. She always found it peculiar how I had been able to grasp the tops of her fingers in mine.

She wrapped her hand around mine pulling it to her lap. She looked me in the eyes and merely shook her head no.

Not this time.

_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn _

_But that's alright because I like the way it hurts _

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry _

_But that's alright because I love the way you lie _

_I love the way you lie._

_**Final Note: **_EEH! I know. Eddie's so good to her and Jake is, well, not. But she likes the way it hurts… I want to let everybody know I'm looking for a beta, and if your interested, then message me!


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